Chaos
by victorious1314
Summary: While Sam is in the Mental Hospital in season 7, he is sent back in time and put into his 16 year old body. With Hallucifer by his side and all of his knowledge of the future, will Sam be able to play his part, or will his madness win? Full Warning Inside Teenchesters
1. Chapter 1

**Chaos**

 _victorious_1314_

 _AU: Hey! I've been wanting to write a fanfiction like this for a long time but have never gotten around to it. I can promise 100% that my other fanfic, Sympathy for the Devil, will be continued. My other fanfictions that I discontinued were because I lost interest the show, Once Upon a Time. However, I still love the show Supernatural and cannot honestly see an end to that love in the future. Anyways, I'd like to give a shoutout to my bff Emma, who helped (continues to help me) with this story. Emma also made the cover photo for Sympathy for the Devil and if everything goes according to plan (neither of us getting hit with a bus), she'll most likely make one for this fanfiction as well. Sorry if this story is bit goofy, I have a strange sense of humor. Okay, so I hope you enjoy this story as much as you like my other fanfictions. Thank you all for your kind reviews, favorites, and follows! You are the reason I push myself to write. 3_

 _ **Warning**_ _: Sensitive topics, self harm, suicidal thoughts/actions, mentioned torture/abuse, mental instability, insanity, frightening scenes and flashbacks_

Sam opens his eyes slowly to reveal Lucifer, his unwanted companion that he can't seem to get rid of. Sam's entire body feels sluggish and foreign under the scratchy motel blankets that wrap around him. Sam stares up at the stained ceiling and- wait, what? He sits up immediately, the world around him a swaying blur. What the hell is he doing in a motel room?

The last time he checked he was-... Where was he again? Memories flood Sam's mind of a demon in the mental hospital preforming electro shock therapy on him. He cringes and lifts a hand to the spots where the burns must be on his temples. Surprise runs through him when his fingers meet smooth skin. He tries to think harder, remember more details.

Sam remembers seeing... Castiel? No, that's impossible. Cas was killed when the Leviathan held on inside of him after his 'God' trip. Sam finally looks around the room, his eyes purposefully avoiding the Devil who is now singing, "Stairway to Heaven." As he surveys the small room with unattractive lime green walls and a ratty couch sitting in front of an old looking TV, his gaze settle on the bed next to the one he lay in. On the bed, someone sleeps, completely covered by blankets. _Dean_.

He'd recognize that snoring anywhere. Sam feels a sense of calm wash over him. He debates waking Dean up to ask about what happened but decides against it. He'd take a quick shower first and let his brother sleep in. Sam stands up and wobbles on his feet a bit, feeling strangely off balance and light. He runs a heavy hand over his face to wipe the sleep from his eyes and furrows his brow when he feels no stubble on his cheeks.

Huh? Sam could've sworn he didn't remember shaving. All he remembered was the excruciating pain from the electricity traveling through his body, and then waking up here. Lucifer chuckles from behind him but he ignores it. Maybe Dean shaved his face for him while he was out? How long was he asleep, anyways? Sam opens the bathroom door and locks it behind him, the soft, reassuring click offering no privacy because Lucifer never leaves his side.

Sam turns on the shower and moves to take his shirt off when he's suddenly frozen in place. What does one do when they look into the mirror and see some kid staring back at them. Sam's first thought was that, instead of a window in the bathroom, the motel staff thought it would be a grand idea to put a window in instead. When Sam finally manages to breathe, he finds that the boy breathes with him. Sam's eyes widen, so do the boy's. Sam experimentally moves to touch the mirror and adrenaline pumps into his heart when he mirrors his movements.

Sam's small, bony finger touches the cold mirror and he instantly flinches away like it somehow burned him. He finally looks down at his body to see that his limbs are shrunken. A scream is trapped in his throat and his hands are shaking. Sam takes a step closer to the mirror to examine his new face some more. The face looks familiar somehow, like really, really familiar.

That's when it hits him, he's somehow been de-aged. How the hell did this happen? He shoots an accusatory look at Lucifer but he looks just as confused as him. Sam doesn't fully disregard the idea that this is a very realistic hallucination yet, though. Sam spends the next several minutes poking and prodding his younger, smaller body in the mirror, as if he'll suddenly turn back into his 28 year old self.

Dean is woken up by the sound of the shower turning on. Sam always gets up earlier than him. Dean stretches his joints and yawns loudly. He looks at the clock, it's 4:30 am. Damn, Sam got up really early this morning. Grumpy from his stolen sleep, Dean heads into the crappy motel kitchen and starts making coffee. Sam just started drinking it but Dean still only gives it to his younger brother it in smaller cups.

Dean hears the shower turn off and watches from the corner of his eye as Sam walks out, completely dry and wide eyed. Dean smirks, "What, was the water not to your liking, princess?"

Sam blinks a few times, "Uh, no. I-um..." Sam stutters, in awe from seeing his brother has been de-aged as well. Dean raises one of his eyebrows in concern, "You ok, Sammy?"

Sam clears his throat and sits down across from Dean on a wobbly chair, "W-What happened?" He finally manages to ask. Dean frowns, "What do you mean?" Dean watches over Sammy like a hawk, was he having a stroke or aneurysm or something? Realization dawns on Sam after a few awkward moments of tense silence.

"N-Nothing, Dean. Uh, would you mind telling me the date?" Sam offers, his heart pounding in his ears. Was he somehow sent back in time? If so, how? Only angels could travel through time and the angels haven't wanted much of anything to do with Sam and Dean since... well, since Castiel died. Dean looks even more bewildered, "It's September 2nd, Sam. It's your first day of 11th grade, remember?"

Sam scratches his neck awkwardly, "No, I meant, What _year_ is it?"

Dean starts laughing suddenly, "What are you acting like a _time traveler_ for? Next you're going to start dancing around and shouting _'Eureka_! It worked!', right?" Dean chuckles some more and Sam joins in eventually, remembering that they didn't know time travel existed when they were young. Sam scoffs, "Yeah, and I really had you going there for awhile too, huh?" Dean rolls his eyes, "Did not."

Sam smiles, his blood still pounding in his ears, feeling dangerously close to freaking out. Dean tosses a foil wrapped PopTart at him, which he misses due to his preoccupied thoughts. "If you're going to pretend, you're going to have to do a better job than that." Lucifer snaps suddenly. Sam picks up the snack from the floor and starts to open it with shaking hands. He watches as Dean pours two cups of coffee while he tells Sam about his dream about a hot chick who came in to have her car fixed at the mechanic shop. Sam picks at his food, not feeling in the mood to eat, both from the dire situation he is in, and the fact that Lucifer is making maggots crawl out of the holes in the PopTart.

"Hey-" Dean stops, "You're not hungry?" Sam shakes his head and offers it to him. Dean looks a bit unsure but takes it anyways, scarfing it down in just a few seconds. Dean continues to watch Sam warily though. Suddenly he puts a hand on Sam's forehead and asks, "Are you sure you're feeling alright? Because I'll take a day off from the shop. I've been doing extra hours just in case you get sick."

Sam ponders this for a moment, would it really be in his best interest to spend the day around someone who knows everything about him and can point out anything different in his manner? Sam decides not. "I'm fine, just didn't sleep well." That is true, in 2011 Sam was on the verge of death from not sleeping. Dean smiles and ruffles Sam's hair, "Yeah, you woke me up! You do realize it's only," Dean pauses to look at the clock on the microwave, "5:00 am!"

Sam grunts in reply and heads into the bedroom to find some clothes. Dean stands up as well, downing the last of his coffee. Sam stops in his tracks, his eyes following his brother up, and up, and up. Jesus, he forgot what it was like to be the shorter brother. Dean snorts, "See something you like, Scrawny?"

Sam blinks a few times, the words taking a bit to settle in. He chuckles uneasily and shakes his head before rushing off towards his duffel bag to get dressed.

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" _Come on_ , we have to go!" Dean shouts from the door, his work uniform a faded blue color with the logo for the shop on the back. Sam nervously leaves the bathroom, berating himself the entire time. _If I can kill monsters on a weekly basis, stop the apocalypse, and spend 180-something years in hell, I can go to High School_ , he thinks to himself. Lucifer looms a few yards behind him, not causing much trouble other than singing a few annoying songs here and there. Sam's shaggy brown hair is messy and covering his eyes for the most part, his hands are folded together in a black hoodie, his jeans are hanging low on his waist, and his plain brown backpack sticks out behind him, the straps snug on his shoulders.

"Come on, slow poke. You were up so early, I thought you were going to be the one rushing me," Dean comments as they close the doors of the Impala, "You're _sure_ that you're okay?"

Sam smiles, "I'm fine Dean." Lucifer pipes in, "Your mouth says, _'I'm okay,'_ but your eyes say _, 'help me'_." Sam grits his teeth, he knows he needs to be more convincing because he keeps catching Dean giving him worried side glances as he drives. "He's gonna crash the car" Lucifer muses.

"No-" Sam starts but clamps his mouth shut at the last minute. "What'd you say?" Dean asks absentmindedly. Sam chuckles nervously, "Nothing, I was just thinking out loud I guess."

Dean rolls his eyes, "Don't go crazy on me, Sammy." Sam knows he's just joking, but he can't help but feel miserable. They pull up to the High School and Sam feels a little bit of nostalgia. He remembers this school, barely. For some reason as they pull farther up, towards the drop off zone, Sam starts to feel sick. Then he remembers.

This school was called Granite High School, and Sam was bullied by a group of senior jocks here. Sam curses under his breath as he remembers the five, bulky football players cornering him in gym class, the teacher looking away on purpose. Sam tried to fight them off with his exemplary fighting skills that he'd gained from hunting, but he was outnumbered. He ended up with a broken rib and a black eye. The next day, Dean beat all five of those guys up so badly that Sam, Dean, and John had to leave town soon after to avoid legal trouble. Speaking of John, where was he? Sam tries to remember what his father was hunting but is interrupted when Dean's hand slaps his shoulder.

"Have a good day... and remember, if anyone gives you any problems, _you tell me_." Dean's previously cheery voice slowly lowers into dangerous territory. Sam gulps and nods, not wanting a repeat of the last time this school year happened. God, how long is Sam going to be stuck here? How long can he keep this façade up? Sam starts walking towards the school building and pulls his schedule out of his bag. He glances down at the piece of paper and sighs, this is going to be a long day.

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Sam sits in his Algebra II class, aghast from the realization that he didn't remember shit from math class. I'd only been, what, six years since he left Stanford? He's going to fuck up his younger selves' grades if he doesn't get back into his adult body and his own time soon. The teacher hands out homework just before the bell rings, who the hell gives out homework on the first day of school? Sam grumbles and stuffs the paper into a neat binder that his sixteen year old self must have organized.

At lunch time, Sam chooses a seat outside that was mostly solitary since most kids didn't want to eat outside in the ninety degree weather. Sam takes one sip of the school milk and grimaces, how could he have ever eaten this shit? The food at Stanford was fine dining compared to this garbage. Sam looks down at the oily pizza in the tray and eats it regardless of the sour aftertaste, thankful for the first meal left alone by Lucifer in weeks.

Sam feels unexplainably anxious in his English class. "Maybe because this is the class you have with the football douches?" Lucifer comments lazily. Sam looks around quickly and surprise, surprise, the fuckheads are sitting in the back of the class. Sam can't remember what he did that made them hate him so much so he doesn't have any idea what to avoid doing. Lucifer doesn't offer any help so Sam keeps his eyes low and picks apart the eraser on his pencil with his thumbnail.

The bell rings and Sam is immediately up and ready to leave, wanting to be out of there before the bullies could even set their eyes on him. Sam heads out to the front of the school to wait for Dean, the inescapable sensation of dread forming in his stomach. If only he could remember what-

Sam's train of thought is interrupted by a girl with bright blonde hair and hazel eyes. Freckles dusted her sun kissed skin, and a headband held her hair back from her face. "Hi, my name is Emily. What's yours?" She asks sweetly. Sam feels his heart drop. This is it. This is why the bullies targeted him. This was one of the asshole's girlfriend and he took Sam talking to her as a threat to his bravado. Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck. Lucifer laughs, "Oh wow, it's your one weakness Sammy, a teenage girl!" Sam inhales sharply and starts to walk away from the girl who is still waiting for a reply.

"Um, excuse me?" She says, obviously not used to boys ignoring her. Sam starts heading towards a tree across the street. The girl scoffs, "Are you deaf? I'm talking to you!"

Lucifer starts laughing harder, "She thinks you're retarded! This is the best thing I've ever seen."

"Shut up." Sam mutters. The girl stops in her tracks behind him. He hadn't meant for the 'shut up' to be for her but he's relived it got her to stop. Sam finally reaches the tree and spots the Impala pulling up around the corner and rushes to it. Throwing himself in the passengers seat and slamming the door. He lets out an exhausted breath and turns to Dean who is eyeing him curiously.

"What's wrong?" He asks warily. Sam sighs and runs a hand through his hair, "Nothing, I'm fine." He realizes that his voice sounds a bit angry but doesn't have the energy to fix it. Dean lets out a short laugh, "Okay, Grumpy."

Sam rests his head against the window, his thoughts disorderly and frustrating. How the hell is he going to get back to his own time? How will he pass Algebra? Where is dad? What the fuck is Algebra even for? Did Castiel somehow have something to do with this? And lastly, What the actual fuck is a Quadratic Equation?


	2. Chapter 2

**Chaos**

 **Chapter Two**

 _victorious_1314_

 _AU: Hi, I've been really excited to write more for this story so here I am :) I want to apologize for any spelling/grammatical errors I 've made/will make. The writing app I have on my computer doesn't spell check so I have to use one online where I copy and paste my writing in it. I try to fix all of the errors but some always evade my attention haha. I'll try to do better, though. Anyways, Thank you for your kind reviews, favorites, and follows! You are the reason I keep writing. 3_

 _ **Warning**_ _: Sensitive topics, self harm, suicidal thoughts/actions, mentioned torture/abuse, mental instability, insanity, frightening scenes and flashbacks_

Dean watches his brother worriedly as he looks at his slice of pizza like it's the most disgusting thing he's ever seen, "What the hell, Sammy? I got cheese," Dean complains, "your favorite." Sam smiles at Dean and forces himself to take a bite of the fly covered pizza. Sam tries to hide his disgust as he feels the bugs crunch under his molars. "Ah, you like that one? I'll make sure I do it again." Lucifer teases.

Sam swallows and wipes his greasy fingers on his jeans before speaking, "So, what's dad hunting again?" He asks casually. Dean narrows his eyes, "What, you don't remember?" When Sam shakes his head, Dean continues, "He's hunting a possible poltergeist a couple towns over with Pastor Jim, remember?"

Sam's eyes widen, "Oh, yeah! The case with that woman who killed her children, right? The children became vengeful spirits and started drowning whoever lived in that neighborhood whenever they took a bath?"

Dean raises his eyebrows, "What the hell are you talking about?" Lucifer snorts, "They didn't figure that out until _after_ John and Jim salted and burned the mother's body."

Sam freezes up and stuffs his mouth full of pizza, glad that the flies have disappeared. He coughs a few times, "Uh, never mind."

"Oh, wow. You really took care of the situation," Lucifer laughs. Dean continues to look at Sam like he's suddenly grown a second head until his cell phone starts ringing in his pocket. Sam takes one look at the old, disposable flip phone and has to stifle his laughter. God, he misses his smart phone.

"Hello?" Dean answers. John's voice responds immediately, "Hey, Dean. Turns out we were wrong about the mother being the ghost. Another person was killed last night, same way as the previous victims. We're going to have to stay another week, at least. Everything okay over there?"

Sam is watching Lucifer scratch at the green paint on the walls, absentmindedly. Dean feels his heart drop at his father's words and begins watching Sam closely, feeling even more freaked out than before. Something weird is going on with his little brother and he's going to get to the bottom of it. "Uh, yeah. Every thing's fine here," Dean lies, "Sam started school today and I'm still working at the shop. I'll call you if anything happens."

John and Dean finish their conversation with some awkward wishes of good luck before Dean closes the phone. Lucifer's nails are black and long as they scratch at the paint, making it peel and curl as he drags his hands down. Sam can't take his eyes away, the destruction almost aesthetically pleasing to watch. "So, um, that was Dad," Dean says slowly and carefully, "He says that he'll have to stay a bit longer." Dean decides not to tell Sam about the failed salt and burn. He's already creeped out enough by his brother's prediction coming true.

Sam nods, forcing his gaze from Lucifer's actions, "Yeah, okay," Sam mumbles, "I'm gonna take a shower and head to bed, alright?" Sam stands up and frowns when he notices how spooked Dean appears. "You, uh, you okay?" Sam asks nervously.

Dean lets out a short, airy laugh, "Y-yeah, I'm good, man." Sam nods and leaves the cramped kitchen and enters the bathroom. Dean lets out a breath of air he hadn't realized he was holding and sags in his chair. Something bad is going on here. When Dean looks at his brother he, of course, still feels his love and need to protect him, but he also feels something else. Something not quite right. It almost feels like anticipation. Like, when you're watching a horror movie and you're waiting for the monster to pop up any moment. You twist and turn in your seat, struggling to somehow cover both of your eyes and ears at the same time and that heavy feeling of dread sits in your stomach. Your heart feels like somebody has punched their hand through your chest and is squeezing your beating organ with all of their might. That's what Dean feels when he looks at Sam. Like Sam is a grenade with the pin pulled from it and Dean is standing too close.

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Sam wakes up the next morning in shock. Had he actually fallen asleep last night? He looks over at Lucifer who is sitting on the end of the bed, peeling the skin from his own arm with a knife. Sam grimaces and looks away. His eyes land on the clock, it's 7:00 am. He feels like he might cry. He just slept an _entire_ night. Sam smiles smugly and gets dressed and washed up for the day.

Dean reads the comics in the newspaper and sips his third cup of coffee. He hadn't been able to sleep at all last night after all the strange things that have been going on with Sammy lately. Sam walks into the kitchen and swings his backpack onto his shoulders.

"Come on, Dean. We're going to be late," Sam does his best to sound annoyed at his brother for keeping him from going to school, though in actuality he can't help but feel grateful to him for delaying the inevitable. Dean chuckles and grabs the keys for the Impala, "Alright, I'm coming."

Sam slips on his vans by the door and they both trek outside, the unforgiving summer sun beating down on them. Sam learned his lesson yesterday when he wore his dark, heavy clothes to school. Now he's wearing one of Dean's old AC/DC tees and a pair of ripped jeans. Sam managed to tame his hair better this morning so his bangs swoop across his forehead instead of just hanging over his eyes.

As they drive in the Impala, Dean turns on the radio to a station the Sam vaguely remember enjoying. The beginning techo instrumental of, "Baby One More Time" by Britney Spears pours through the speakers. Sam starts laughing immediately, he remembers that he and Dean used to jam out to this in the car and crack up. Dean laughs with him and Sam starts singing along in an annoying, nasally voice as soon as the lyrics start. Dean looks at him strangely but laughs nonetheless. Sam is hardly able to compose himself and sing along because he's laughing so hysterically.

Dean thinks he might crash the car because he's cackling so much he thinks he might puke. The song starts to finish and Sam's face is red and his laughter is mixed in with coughs at his point. Dean finally is able to breathe enough and asks over the fading music, "Where the hell did you learn that song? Was that Britney Spears?"

Sam briefly forgets where he is and replies, "What the fuck are you talking about? That's a classic!" The enthusiastic radio announcer cuts in, "That was, 'Baby One More Time' by Britney Spears in her new album that was just released this morning! It's already making a splash in the industry and being played on radios all over the country! Now, for some Cher to brighten your morning on, WRKH 103.9!"

Sam and Dean say nothing as they pull up to the school. Sam feels like he's covered with ice and his eyes burn from not blinking. He feels like the slightest movement will trigger Dean to start questioning him. Instead, Dean pulls up to the sidewalk without a word. Sam doesn't need any convincing and he barrels out of the car and towards the school. Lucifer doesn't stop laughing, "That had to be the stupidest thing you have ever done!" He giggles. Sam runs a hand through his hair in frustration, "Just be quiet, I'll find a way to fix that."

Lucifer snickers, "Honestly, Sammy, it's really idiotic to keep lying like this. Maybe we should just tell him." Sam stops in his tracks and turns around to face his hallucination, "What if that changes the future, huh? Then what? What if I tell him and he doesn't believe me and they think I've lost my mind?" Lucifer opens his mouth to reply but Sam puts up a hand to silence him, "Don't even go there."

"Who the hell are you talking to, freak?" A male voice calls behind him. Sam realizes that he's standing in the middle of the hallway talking to nobody with a start. He turns around to see the jock that, that girl is dating. The one that started the bullying. Shit.

"I said, who the hell are you talking to?" The dick repeats. Sam rolls his eyes, "Nobody, leave me alone." Sam moves to walk past the large boy but he's pushed back. The boy is wearing a T-Shirt with the school's mascot of a dragon on it. His hair is gelled into diminutive spikes atop his head and his jaw is tense and angry. The boy speaks, "See, I would let you go, but I have a bone to pick with you."

Sam's eyebrows shoot up, "What? What do you mean? I never did anything to you! I don't even know who you are!" The boy laughs, "Name's Hunter, and you were rude to my girlfriend yesterday."

Sam frowns, "I didn't do anything to her," he insists, "I didn't even talk to her!"

All of a sudden Hunter slams Sam up against the metal lockers and growls, "Huh, funny. She told me you told her to 'shut up.' Are you saying she's a _liar_?"

Sam glares at the teenage boy, this is ridiculous. He isn't going to be bullied by a kid, no matter how small the body he is, is in now. Sam uses a maneuver he learned from Dean and twists free from Hunter's grip. "What the?" Hunter mutters, but Sam is long gone. Running to his first class. He's already late.

"Wow, running from a High Schooler. This is a new low, even for you." Lucifer mocks. Sam rolls his eyes and sits down in class, apologizing to his Chemistry teacher profusely for being late.

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The bell rings and Sam, yet again, rushes out of his English classroom, not wanting to quarrel with the jocks who were glaring at him throughout the entire period. Just as Sam is about to head out of the doors, his cell phone starts to ring in his bag. He leans against a cold metal locker, fishes it out of the backpack, and answers it. Sam has to plug his other ear to hear the voice on the other end through all of the talking and yelling teenagers around him.

Dean's voice comes through the speaker, "Hey, Sammy. I have to stay late at the shop and help the boss. Will you be alright walking home?" Sam looks around warily, and sure enough, Hunter and his merry men are watching him. Sam stifles a sigh, "Yeah, I'll be fine. When will you be home?" Sam says, knowing fool well that the motel room isn't 'home.'

"Around 7'O'Clock. I'll bring home some subs for dinner, okay?" Dean answers. "Alright," Sam chirps, "Bye." He closes the phone and starts speed walking out of the front doors, hoping to evade the bullies who most likely want to beat him to a pulp. As Sam steps outside he notices that instead of the dry, hot weather they've had lately, it's drizzling. He picks up his pace and starts half-running down the street.

Sam glances quickly behind his shoulder to see the group of guys gaining on him. He breaks out into a sprint, cutting through alleyways and in between buildings downtown. He runs down an alleyway that has a garbage bin with a sizable space behind it that he can squeeze into. He looks behind him once more to check if they can see him, and slides behind the green, stinking bin. He hears shouts and footsteps run past his hiding place and the rain starts pouring down from the sky so hard that he can barely see through it.

Sam waits several minutes before emerging from the space, he's completely drenched. "That was close," Lucifer sighs. Sam nods, squinting to see through the rain and starts walking around the corner of the alleyway, and onto the street when a pair of hands push him down, hard. His head smacks against the concrete beneath him and his world spins.

"Hey, motherfucker," Hunter's voice shouts over the loud rain, "We've been looking for you." They must have been heading back the way they came. Lucifer chuckles, "Talk about unlucky."

Sam can barely see through the rain but estimates about seven guys are around him. Even in his adult body he probably couldn't fight this many guys off, it's just unfair. A foot kicks him in the stomach suddenly and he groans, curling into a ball.

This is ridiculous, he shouldn't even be in this situation. Rain pours into Sam's eyes, making it too blurry for him to see. Someone picks him up from the collar of his shirt and punches him in the face a few times. Blood drips from Sam's mouth and nose. He looks up at his assailants and does the only thing he can do, laughs.

"What the fuck?" One of them says. "What the hell is so funny, dumbass?" Another asks, sounding somewhat disturbed. "He's fucking crazy. I saw him talking to himself earlier!" Hunter spits. They all start hitting him then.

Sam doesn't know how long he is used as their punching bag for. But at one point he does wonder if they are planning on beating him to death. Eventually they stop, laugh, and insult him for awhile. Then they leave him, bleeding on the pavement, the rain diluting his blood and eventually washing it away.

"You don't look so good." Lucifer says, laughter bubbling through his words. Sam rolls over and pushes himself into a sitting position. He feels his ribcage for breaks or fractures but can find none, at least he avoided that. They mostly focused on his face which he's sure is all kinds of fucked up. Sam looks over to see his bag is torn open and all of it's contents scattered on the ground, destroyed by the rain. Sam manages to stand up and find his cell phone, which is, sadly, emerged in a puddle of water. Sam opens it but can't get it to turn on so he can call Dean.

Where the hell even is he? He runs his bruised hands through his soaking hair and spits some blood on the ground. His lips are split in several places and he bit his tongue pretty bad when they kicked him in the gut. Sam gathers his damp items and stuffs them into his bag, preparing a long trek home from wherever he is.

"This is bullshit," He says to himself. He can't do this. He can't pretend to be a 16 year old version of himself any longer. He needs to get back to his own time, now. He'd take Leviathan over this any day. He growls and starts walking down the street, not caring where he ends up, just wanting to get away.

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It's pitch black out and Sam is sitting against a large grey building, under a streetlight, when the Impala pulls up. The rain is unrelenting and Sam is starting to wonder if he'll ever be able to dry off.

Dean had been driving up and down every street in the damned town for hours, searching for his little brother, until he finally spotted him. As he pulled up closer he noticed that Sam was soaked, bloody, and staring off in the distance at nothing. Dean pulls up and all but carries Sam into the passenger seat. What the hell happened? He knew it was a stupid idea to have Sam walk home alone when he hasn't been acting normally lately.

Dean doesn't talk the whole ride to the motel, and Sam is grateful for the silence. Once they're inside of their room, Sam plops down onto the couch, feeling like he could sleep for a year. Dean grabs the first aid kit from underneath the bathroom sink and sits down in front of Sam. Dean cleans Sam's wounds wordlessly and his anger grows with every breath.

Finally, he can't keep quiet any longer, "Who did this?" He says, his voice low and rumbling, much like the thunder outside. Sam smiles sadly, "It really doesn't matter."

Dean scoffs, "Yeah, it does! It does fucking matter, Sam! I'm going to find whoever did this to you and I'm going to _kill_ them! _Who_. _Did_. _It_?" Dean is gripping Sam's shoulders tightly now, the first aid kit forgotten and fallen from his lap.

Sam laughs, "I can't do this anymore." He mumbles under his breath. "Can't do what anymore?" Dead asks incredulously.

Sam looks up at Dean, his eyes wide and his lips upturned into a shocked smile, " _This_! I can't do this! This pretending, this _game_ that we're playing here!"

Dean lowers his hands, taken completely off guard, "What are you talking about, Sammy?"

"It's Sam. And I can't keep lying to you like this, I'm not your Sam." He finally says, his voice wavering with anxiety.

Dean frowns, "What the hell do you mean, you're not my Sam?" Dean's thoughts start to wander. What if... No. He checks the salt lines every day. There is no way Sam is possessed. Plus, Dean has never encountered a demon before, but he doesn't think they'd behave the way Sam has.

"I mean, you were right about what you said yesterday," Sam answers, his voice low and scared. Dean tilts his head to the side, what did he say yesterday that Sam is referring to?

Sam finally continues, "I'm from the future."


	3. Chapter 3

**Chaos**

 **Chapter Three**

 _victorious_1314_

 _AU: Hi, I haven't updated this story in months but I really like it and don't want to stop any time soon. I must apologize for my lack of updating, but my depression gets in the way quite a bit. I love reading your reviews, they honestly make me so happy. I check for new reviews even when I haven't updated in forever. I love all of you for reading my stories and putting up with my bullshit. Sorry so this is so long. Anyways, Thank you for your kind reviews, favorites, and follows! You are the reason I keep writing. :)_

 _Warning_ _: Sensitive topics, self harm, suicidal thoughts/actions, mentioned torture/abuse, mental instability, insanity, frightening scenes and flashbacks_

Dean's previous anger diminishes slightly and is replaced with bewilderment at Sam's words. "What the hell are you talking about?" He manages. Sam's eyes glimmer with a wave of courage and he repeats, "I'm from the future."

Dean scoffs in annoyance, his furiously back at large, "Stop joking and tell me who hurt you!" His fists are balled tight and his eyes are wide and dangerous. Dean's emotions could be compared to a wild animal protecting their young, although he would never admit that to himself, let alone anyone else.

Sam exhales angrily, exasperation oozing from his every pore. Lucifer isn't bothering him for the time being, however, so he is largely grateful for that aspect of the situation. "Think about it, Dean," Sam tries, his voice strained, "Why did I ask for the date? How did I know how Dad's hunt would end? How did I know that stupid song in it's entirety?" Sam's big brother continues to stare at him blankly so he continues, "I knew the fucking song because I remember singing it with you, I asked for the date because the last time I checked it was 2011, and I knew how Dad's hunt would end because I remember not only hearing about it, but reading about it in detail from his journal!"

Dean blinks a few times, his brain feeling strangely numb and inactive. A chill slowly travels up his spine and his eyes enlarge with a new emotion, panic. Almost a minute goes by in complete silence before Dean speaks again, "Prove it," he says, his voice so quiet that Sam almost missed it. Sam shakes his head, "How?"

Dean thinks for a few moments until he answers, "Tell me something that I haven't told you yet... That I tell you in the future."

Sam sighs again and tries to think. Eventually, something that fits his brother's description comes to mind, "When you were 18 you wore pink panties because Rhonda... something-I don't remember her last name, told you to, and you liked it."

Dean's cheeks and the tops of his ears redden in shame and he hangs his head low to his chest. "How did you know that?" he mumbles.

"We got really drunk once and you told me. I think you thought I forgot, but I didn't," Sam replies, his voice still unsure but this time with a slight humorous undertone. Dean feels like he was just slapped in the face when the realization that Sam might actually be telling the truth hits him.

If Sam is telling the truth, he would know things about their future and could help prevent bad things from happening, right? Like hunts gone wrong and injuries. This could be an amazing thing, but, where is his Sammy? Is he.. is he dead? No, he can't be, Dean refuses to give that possibility a second thought. His mind feels like a bees nest, all of his thoughts enter and exist his head like a wasp infestation. Dean feels like he may pass out if he doesn't distract himself soon from the dangerous path his mind is traveling down. Thankfully, Sam finally speaks up,

"I don't know if I can tell you much because I'm not sure if it will effect the future," Sam looks off at Lucifer, "Not that, that would necessarily be a _bad_ thing," he murmurs under his breath." Dean catches his words, "What?"

Sam shakes his head, "Nothing, don't worry about it," he attempts to run his swollen hand through his hair but grimaces as he tries to lift it up. Dean observes his right wrist and and lightly pokes and prods it with his fingers. Sam is silent throughout this process. "Why aren't you screaming your head off?" Dean asks nonchalantly. Sam tilts his head in confusion, "Wha-" Dean cuts him off, "Your wrist is sprained and I'm poking at it. Is it numb?"

Sam shrugs his shoulders, "It hurts but there's no use in being loud and obnoxious, is there?" Dean frowns and reaches into the first aid kit to grab a sling that's neatly folded at the bottom. He begins gently fastening the strap around Sam's arm and shoulder, "I guess not..." Dean continues cleaning Sammy's wounds, including, but not limited to, two cuts on his upper and lower lip, a leaking, bruised, and puffy right eye, a scraped and gravel packed wound on his left cheek, and a deep cut on his arm, possibly from a switch blade. Luckily, he wouldn't require stitches so Dean won't have to break out the whiskey and dental floss.

"Can you at least tell me a little about the future?" Dean asks, he's been waiting patiently for Sam to be nodding off to sleep. Sam's eyelids slightly open before drooping closed again. He groans quietly in response. Dean waits a few seconds before continuing his half-hearted questioning, "What's it like?" his voice is soft, as to not wake Sam up enough for him to realize what he's saying.

Sam's face scrunches up and he half says, half yawns, "Not good."

Dean sighs and wakes Sam up enough to help in change out of his soaking clothes and into his pajamas. He lays him onto his bed and before he lets him sleep, he remembers to perform a few tests to see if he has a concussion. He sadly finds that he has mild head trauma from the beating he took. Dean lets out a breath of air sadly, he pushes a few strands of hair from Sam's eyes and pulls the blanket up to his younger brother's chin. He hasn't shown this level of affection to him since Sam started pulling away from his hugs when he turned around 13. What he doesn't know won't hurt him.

Because of Sam's concussion, he'll be bed ridden for at least a week and Dean will have to closely monitor him and wake him up periodically. Dean turns off the light and heads into the kitchen. He turns on the coffeemaker and prepares for yet another sleepless night.

.

.

.

The next few days pass by quickly for Sam, his only conscious actions are being awoken by Dean to take pain killers, be fed cereal, and being escorted to the bathroom from time to time. The rest of the period he spends fast asleep, his wounds healing as he is unconscious. Meanwhile, Dean spends the entire time worrying his ass off over what he's going to tell dad when he gets home. Perhaps he should say, "Hey, Dad! Sorry that Sam can't talk right now, he was beaten to a _fucking pulp_ by some bullies. He's passed out from all the pain medications I've been keeping him on and his concussion. Also, you should know that he isn't _our_ Sammy at all, this is _future Sam_ in _younger Sam's_ body. Don't worry about it though. Everything is under control. How was the hunt?"

Dean can practically imagine his father's face slowly turning red and the storm that would be unleashed upon him. Although, he would deserve every minute of it. What the actual fuck was he thinking when he made Sam walk home alone. He knew he'd been acting strangely, yet he still left him to fend for himself. God, he can't wait to fucking murder those asshole's who did this to his brother. Dean has spent the past few days contemplating how Sam could have possibly traveled through time. Part of him feels that everything he said about time travel was just made up shit he was babbling because of his head trauma. But even as he thinks that, there is an annoying voice in the back of his head pointing out all of the strange things that have been occurring with Sammy the past two days.

It's possible that he could have just been messing with him when he asked the date, he could have just guessed correctly about their father's hunt, he could have somehow learnt the song that morning, and he could have said all of those things while Dean was cleaning his wounds because he was delirious. Dean tries to assure himself that time travel doesn't exist, but that nagging voice returns to remind him that they hunt monsters for a living and just because they haven't experienced it as hunters, time travel may very well exist.

Dean swallows a spoonful of cereal and places his plastic spoon in his Styrofoam bowl, a high pitched squeaking noise is heard from the action as Sam stumbles out from the bathroom. Dean stands suddenly and rushes over to his little brother, "What the hell are you doing up?" He hadn't even see him get up from the bed. Sam presses the palms of his hands into his eyes and mumbles, "I wanted to brush my teeth."

Dean laughs softly and starts to lead Sam back to bed, "C'mon bro, back to sleep." Instead of going with him, Sam stays rooted to the ground, "I feel fine, I'm not tired anymore."

Dean frowns and his hands fall from his brother's shoulders, "I'm going to grab your meds," Dean starts to walk towards the ajar bathroom door, but Sam grips the back of his sweatshirt, with his good hand, in order to stop him. Dean turns around and a look of confusion riddles his features. Sam walks to the couch and throws himself onto it, "I don't want to sleep anymore." He reaches for the remote, which is wedged in between two couch cushions and turns the TV on. It's the evening so the light bounces off Sam's cringing face.

Dean sighs dramatically and joins Sam on the couch, "You're head and sprained wrist will start hurting real badly and you'll be begging me for a dose."

Sam's eyes flicker to Lucifer, who is licking the blood off one of the meat hooks that are hanging from the ceiling, and then turns back towards the television, "I keep having nightmares and I can't wake up from them when I'm drugged that heavily."

Dean searches worriedly over Sam's troubled face and subconsciously leans closer to his little brother. He's about to comment about how, 'Sam can always talk to him about anything,' but he instead remains silent, the sound of the daily news filling the dark room and tense space between them.

.

.

.

Dean ends up dead asleep within a mere thirty minutes, due to the bare minimum of shut eye he's been limiting himself to for the past week. His eyes flutter open and his ears fill with the soft, low grumbling of the air conditioner and the rumble of cars on their way to work for the day. Streams of light project onto his face from the half open blinds covering the window, making him groan and shield his face. He forgets where he is for a few seconds until he hears his brother's muffled voice coming from the kitchen. Dean forces himself into a sitting position and winces from the pain that flares throughout his lower back from his previous sleeping position.

Dean stands up and waits for his blackened vision to return to normal before stumbling towards his brother's voice.

"Like I keep saying, I'd take Leviathan over-" Sam hears Dean's footsteps approaching him from behind. He spins around and his features transform into an expression of poorly masked shock. Dean squints his tired eyes and peers around Sam's shoulder to find no one there. Dean opens his mouth, but before he can speak, Sam interrupts, "Oh, you're awake, huh? I was just, uh, I'm already up... What are you-" Sam takes a step towards Dean but wobbles a bit, his amber drink sloshing over the sides of his Styrofoam cup as he does so. Dean frowns and snatches the drink from his brother's grasp, "What the fuck is this?" Dean sniffs the cup and scowls, "Fucking _whiskey_ , are you kidding me, Sam?"

Sam chuckles and throws himself onto one of the fold out dining chairs. He runs a hand over his mouth before speaking, "I'm twenty-eight, dude."

Dean dumps the drink out in the sink and sits on the opposite side of the cold, beige table. There is a brief moment of silence until Dean's deep, tired voice sounds from his grimacing and twisted mouth, "This whole time travel bullshit needs to stop, Sam."

Sam laughs bitterly at his elder brother's words, "I agree, I can't handle this right now, man." Sam's eyes meet Dean's intense glare with an incredulous expression, "I'm too fucking _tired_ for this shit."

"Watch your mouth," Dean seethes, his teeth grit together so hard he feels they may push up into his gums. Sam ignores his brother's threatening demeanor, either because of his annoyance or his intoxication, and stands up, "No, you watch your fucking mouth. I shouldn't be here, I shouldn't be here with _you_ ," he turns and points to the wall, "I shouldn't be with _you_ ," he turns back towards Dean, "and I shouldn't have to sit here and listen to you preach to me like I'm a goddamn child! I sacrificed myself for you so you could have a _normal_ life, and now I'm stuck back here in a child's body, and am going to have to live it all over again. I'll kill myself before I say yes again, it will work this time. I'll make it wor-"

Dean hooks Sam in the jaw. Sam falls to the ground with a soft grunt and smiles up at Dean, blood staining his previously white teeth. Dean grabs his brother by the collar of his shirt, " _Stop. Acting. Crazy_!" His voice rings in Sam's ears but his smile broadens nonetheless. Sam maneuvers out of Dean's grasp and stumbles backwards until the backs of his thighs hit the thin wall. Sam wipes some of the blood dripping from his nose with his good hand and laughs softly.

Dean yells in frustration and launches himself at his brother. He doesn't understand what is going on at all. Sam could have just spoken gibberish for a minute straight and it would have had the same affect on Dean as his previous mad ramblings. Is his brother insane? Fear clutches at Dean's heart and a sensation of ice travels down his spine. Sam continues to smile up at Dean before Dean speaks again, "What the hell is wrong with you?" Dean slams Sammy against the wall for emphasis. Sam's head lightly knocks against the wall and his smile finally falters. Dean breathes a mute sigh of relief and Sam's gaze directs to behind his shoulder.

Dean turns his head quickly and his grip on Sam goes slack. John Winchester stands with his duffel bag slung over his shoulder. The motel door swings closed behind him.

"Let your brother go, Dean," John's voice is flat and frightening. Dean immediately takes several steps back as shame litters his features. John observes his younger son with his piercing eyes. Sam is standing, slumped against the kitchen wall, his right arm is hanging in the sling from their first aid kit, the skin around his right eye is slightly raised and discolored, he has blood traveling from his nose and streaming into his slightly parted lips, and Dean is hanging his head like a convicted murderer during his sentencing.

"I'm going to give you thirty seconds to explain exactly what the hell is going on here before I assume you're a demon and knock you out," John says to Dean. John's duffel bag is discarded by his feet, his hair is windswept from the drive, his faded leather jacket is stained with gun oil, his sneakers and jeans are covered in dirt from grave digging, and his face is devoid of any emotion at all. Sam giggles like a madman and John glares at him.

Lucifer smiles, "Oh, the _drama_! I swear this is like a soap opera, Sammy!" Lucifer is almost tolerable when Sam drinks. It's almost like he is a companion, rather than a tormentor.

Dean's voice has raised several octaves as he starts to speak, "Some kids beat Sammy up and now he's acting crazy!" Guilt is gnawing at Dean's insides, as he's never struck Sam before, "He thinks he's from the _future_ and he's _drinking_!"

John raises one eyebrow, showing his first real signs of emotion since he's returned.

"It's zombie dad!" Sam says, his voice bubbling with laughter, "back from the dead to yell at us some more!"

John frowns, "What are you talking about, son?" This situation is quickly becoming stranger and stranger. Sam starts laughing harder and John slowly approaches him, Dean quickly moving out of his way. "When did he start acting like this?" John asks, worry evident in his speech. Dean rubs his creased forehead with his hand, "He's been acting weird since the morning on his first day of school."

Sam sits back down at the small motel table and listens to Lucifer's humming of an ancient Enochian song. Sam mumbles the words to the song under his breath. John looks at Dean in confusion, "What's he singing?"

Dean turns his head and moves closer to listen to the strange sounding song. The words sound like complete gibberish to him. John sits across from Sam at the table.

"Well it's definitely not more Brittney Spears," he retorts. John listens carefully, "It sounds like some ancient language..." John says, "Any signs of possession that you've observed while I was gone?"

Dean shakes his head, "No, not that I've seen." Sam stops singing the song and his eyes seem to clear up somewhat before he speaks, "You should have let me die at Cold Oak," his voice is strangely calm as he says, "Not that it would matter, but at least you wouldn't have had to go to hell for me," Sam cringes as he finishes his last sentence. Dean gasps, "What if he's telling the truth, dad?"

John clears his throat and mutters, "Time travel doesn't exist, Dean," he leans back slightly, "Even if it was, wouldn't Sam be older?"

Sam breaks his tense silence, "I _know_ right? That's what I keep saying! This doesn't make any sense at all! I should be in the hospital right now." Sam's voice is cracking and filled with a sense of panic. The oldest Winchester places his hand on his son's narrow shoulder in an attempt to comfort the babbling teen.

Sam jerks away before his father can speak words of assurance, "Don't you _fucking_ touch me!"

John and Dean exchange frantic glances. John puts his hands up in surrender, "I'm not going to hurt you, son." His voice is soft and kind, despite the fear coursing through his veins.

Sam bursts into laughter yet again. Once he can breathe he slurs, "Oh, well maybe not _now_! But, before you die you tell Dean to kill me if he has to! You also hide the fact that I'm one of Azazel's chosen one's from me. Fuck you, dude. Mom chose you over me. I hate you. I hate you so much and I'll _never_ forgive you!" by the end of his rant his face is red and his voice rings in John and Dean's ears.

John is rendered speechless, his fists clenched, along with his jaw, he doesn't even breathe for what seems like an eternity. The eldest Winchester seems to have grown several shades paler. The only sound he hears is his own heartbeat beating in his ears.

Dean is the first one to break the silence, "Who's Azazel?"

John jumps out of his chair and takes a cautionary step backwards, "How do you know that?" John instinctively grips his flask holy water in his back pocket. Dean subconsciously inches towards Sam, his dad's behavior making him even more nervous.

Sam groans, "How many times do I have to tell you guys this?" he stands up on wobbly legs, "I was in the hospital. I was being electrocuted by a demon. I passed out and then I woke up in this body. I don't understand what's happening any more than you do!"

John blinks once, then a few more times before he takes another step backwards. Dean again, breaks the silence, "Who's Azazel?" he repeats.

John flinches and turns to his eldest son, anger and fear filling him to the brim, "The demon who killed your mother."

The room grows silent yet again and Sam breaks into poorly timed laughter again. He'd be better at controlling himself if Lucifer didn't keep saying such hilarious shit at the worst times. John shoots an enraged look at Sam, how dare he laugh? Dean tries to swallow the lump in his throat and murmurs, "I don't understa-"

"Should've left me in the fucking fire," Sam mumbles before stalking off. His emotions are all over the place. He slams the bathroom door behind him, neither his brother, nor his dad try to stop him. He locks the door and stares into the mirror. His reflection, yet again, shocking him. You'd think he'd be used to being young again at this point. Sam's vision is blurry, both from alcohol and hot tears spilling freely from his eyes. Sam observes his bruised flesh and scratches off some of the dried blood under his nose.

Sam turns on the shower and stares himself down in the mirror. He lifts up his shirt to take it off but stops at the sight of the purple bruises and scrapes on his torso. Sam lets the edges of his rock band t-shirt fall from the tips of his fingers. The cast on his arm is causing uncomfortable itching at this point.

When Sam looks back up at the mirror, Lucifer is standing behind him. "Why are you still trying, Sammy?" Lucifer chimes. Sam stifles a sob and weakly shrugs his shoulders. Lucifer continues, "We could be together again, Sam. Don't you want that?" Lucifer asks. Sam shakes his head quickly, his bangs covering his hazel eyes.

Lucifer smiles sadly, "I know you think you don't like me, but you really do," Lucifer wraps his right arm around Sam and rests his palm upon his rapidly beating heart. "Don't you remember?" Lucifer whispers. Sam's eyes widen and his breathing becomes shallow. Lucifer towers over Sam now, making him seem even more threatening.

"Don't you remember all the _fun_ we had? Huh, bunk buddy?" Lucifer's voice grows deeper with every word, until it's rumbling and hushed, _"Remember how I touched you_?"

Sam makes a panicked choking noise and rips open the mirror cabinet. His dad's spare razor blades sit in a small wooden case on the top shelf. He picks them up with shaking hands, he needs to make Lucifer shut up. He can't remember, he won't remember that. The box slips from Sam's hand and the blades fall out onto the floor after the container pops open. The sound is loud and echoes around the bathroom, no doubt heard by John and Dean.

Sam kneels down and picks one of the razors up between pinches fingers. Sam hears rushed footsteps coming towards the bathroom door and flinches when the knocking begins.

"Sammy?" Dean calls, fear thick in his voice.

Sam rips the sling off of his right arm and grips the blade tightly between his left index finger and thumb. He has to put an end to this, now. He can hear John's voice, asking Dean what's happening and Dean's frenzied shouts as he bangs on the door, the lock keeping it shut. Sam knows that Dean can easily break the door down if it comes to it, so he has to work fast.

Sam stares at his bruised right wrist and grits his teeth.

"Remember, down the road, not across the street," Lucifer pipes in.

That's enough for him to wedge the corner of the blade a centimeter deep into his wrist. Sam whimpers softly, images of the cage terrorizing his fragile mind. He jerks his left arm down and the blade rips through his soft flesh. Sam slices all the way down to his elbow crease. Blood spurts from the wound and begins to coat the tiled floor. Sam throws the blade into the ground and steps into the shower. The water immediately soaking through his clothes and mixing with his rushing blood.

The sound of his dad and brother knocking down the door is muffled and distorted. Water clouds his vision and he can barely feel himself being lifted out of the tub.

A familiar tingling feeling fills his ears. A coldness slowly begins to travel up his body. Where has he felt this before? The freezing cold sensation reaches his hands and stomach. His eyes roll wildly around in their sockets, searching for something through this thick fog. The coolness is at his neck now. He looses his hearing first. The sensation is almost relaxing at this point.

It's when his sight goes that he remembers what is happening. Just before his brain ceases to function, along with his physical body, he has one last somber revelation: This is death.


End file.
